


the hit list

by nico_niikura



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Dark, Gen, Gritty, Murderers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:53:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23454325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nico_niikura/pseuds/nico_niikura
Summary: All of the drivers and the stories of the hits they've had to take, the hits they didn't have to take, and the ones they didn't know they'd take. 23 chapters planned, taking requests.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	the hit list

**Author's Note:**

> I'm challenging myself to write in the eyes of every driver I can for 1000-2000 words. Here's my current list of planned drivers:  
> The 2020 grid  
> Nico Hulkenberg  
> Nico Rosberg  
> Fernando Alonso

Lewis didn't get his hands dirty.

He was past that. He grew up having to do everything on his own, or at least mostly on his own. He spent years covered in sweat and dirt and oil and grease and a whole manner of things that he would rather not get into. It was hard work, trying to create money from nothing, trying to create value from talent. He worked desperately to ascend in karting, then single-seater racing, so that maybe one day he would be a household name.

When he was still fresh in the Formula business, he was still doing things his way. When something would go wrong in the car, he would be right there to help figure it out. When something was wrong within the team, he would learn all about it to help solve the issue. When someone got in the way, he would dispose of them on his own, with his own hands.

That quickly became a problem. When too many skeletons started to appear in his closet, he knew he had to do something about it before it got out of hand. They're were too many problems, and the amount of bodies had started to overwhelm him. So he gathered the money he had and hired someone to take care of it. Then the problems quickly disappeared.

That's what he had been doing, and that's what he kept doing. There was no need for him to dirty his hands; they were needed for more important tasks. He would pay them what they wanted, and they would take care of it while he just raced away and won championship after championship. 

The more famous he got, the less problems he had, but they still popped up every now and then. When he still had a rivalry with Nico, he considered taking care of him, but decided it was too high profile and obvious. God forbid he became a suspect or something. Besides, he was much more reserved now. He no longer lived so simply, regarding any threat to him as a problem. He had to be careful now, and only neutralize the problems that lied under the radar.

Lewis cradled the champagne in his flute, putting a hand on his shirt collar to tug on it. It was busy and dense at the party. Everyone was in their own little world, thinking about their open worries and only paying attention to each other. This kind of setting was the easiest to conduct business in, and he frequented these little gatherings often to lessen the attention brought upon his visit. He was just a guest here, not an object of interest, and Lewis was grateful for that.

His eyes sweeped the floor, looking for someone in particular. He didn't know his name, but he was quick and low profile enough to be Lewis's favorite. From what he knew, he was definitely not poor enough to stick out at these functions, but his face wasn't plastered around the world either. He was unremarkable enough to remain relatively anonymous, and that was what was important to Lewis.

His eyes landed on a man in a plain black tux. He was talking with a group of socialites that seemed uninteresting and frankly boring. Lewis glanced down at the man's hand, which had a gold ring on the forefinger and was perched around a champagne glass. The finger was tapping the glass methodically as the man chatted quietly to the woman next to him.

The man glanced up and locked eyes with Lewis. Lewis gently jerked his head to the left, and looked away quickly. He began to walk carefully to the left hand side of the hall, towards an area darkened by an overhang. There were less people there, and it opened up to an balcony that overlooked the gardens. Lewis was cautious to avoid looking rushed, and smiled at anyone that caught his eye. He made conversation when he was prompted, and slipped by anyone that was in front of him. 

Soon, he was walking towards the balcony. He glanced around to the small groups of people in the area, who all ignored him as he walked past. He slowed as he got to the balcony, which was empty, and then stopped at the edge, resting his empty hand on the stone ledge. He sipped his champagne, feeling the dry bubbles pop in his throat, looking down at the ground.

It only took a few moments for black designer shoes to appear in his view. He took another sip from his drink, then glanced up at the owner. He was vaguely European, likely from the collection of southern Slavic countries, with dark hair and sharp eyes. The ring on his hand was highlighted in the moonlight, badly hiding a faint scar that went around his forefinger. His other hand was resting on his hip, and he was leaning slightly. 

"Name?" His accent did not fit his face, befitting of someone native to Sussex, and his voice was quiet and controlled. It illustrated how hidden his identity was. He didn't have any particular vocal quality that stuck out, nor any physical features that were notable. Everything about him could hide in plain sight; another thing that Lewis liked about him.

"I have his card," Lewis replied, using his spare hand to reach into his jacket pocket to pull out a sleek business card. He handed it over to him, and the metallic detailing caught the light momentarily. The man took the card from Lewis's fingers and held it up to his face. His eyes briefly scanned the name, and nodded gently. He then slipped the card into his front trouser pocket and put this hand back on his hip.

"He has many targets on his head already," the man said offhandedly, swirling the champagne in his glass. He tapped his ringed finger against it, once, then twice. Lewis watched this and mimicked it, tapping his own forefinger twice against his glass.

"The money should transfer in a few days," Lewis said, looking into the man's eyes. "The faster you can get it done, the better"

The man's face was calculating, his expression unreadable. Lewis glanced over past him, noticing a couple coming their way in his peripheral vision. Lewis looked back at the man and blinked slowly. The man's face instantly changed, and his posture opened.

"I think that's a wonderful business venture," the man said, a light smile on his face. Lewis held up his glass and swirled it, pausing to take a sip as the couple joined them on the balcony. He let a smile dance on his face, his eyes shifting from the couple to the man's now softened eyes.

"Hope you have a good time," Lewis said, gesturing his glass towards the man's. The man raised his, and Lewis turned away from him. He walked away from the balcony, careful to not alert anyone. He stopped underneath the overhang, finishing his glass and setting it on a nearby end table, where other partiers had left their own glasses. Lewis scanned the room and put his hands behind his back, slowly walking away from the balcony. 

He had the urge to glance back but ignored it, and trusted that no one else had overheard their conversation. Thinking back to how empty it was, he decided that it was vague enough that if someone had heard it, they wouldn't understand what was being implied. The word "targets" was maybe a bit on the nose, but no names were said.

"Only words," Lewis muttered to himself. He glanced around again, recognizing some people and choosing to make himself known to them. He disappeared into the crowd, vanishing just like the people that got in his way.


End file.
